I like to call this story of the quest for the perfect tree.
Not a brown tree. Or a tree trunk.
Not a Charlie Brown tree. Or a hall tree
A big, pump, green tree is what we were after.
It was a dark and snowy night.
Ok, not really, but it was a cool, crisp day. And there was a perfect tree to be found amid a small clump of pines at Hullets Christmas Tree Farm near Hutchinson.
So we went traipsing. We ran. And we managed to secure a tree that would be deemed perfect by just about anyone, including Charlie Brown.
By nightfall, that tree had lights. It had ornaments. It had class. It was a Bickel-perfect Christmas tree. And the girls were happy.
But it's three weeks later. Christmas music is off the radio. The tree droops in the living room. And I am sad.
I still have Charlie Brown Christmas on DVD.